Hidden Truths
by Gilbert H. Karr
Summary: When the Endurance encounters a terrifying, unseen enemy while on routine patrol, the ship's CMO is forced to take command. Severely injured in the ensuing firefight, she is nursed back to health by a newly-minted Starfleet Doctor. Co-written with Lil Black Dog for the 2014 Collaboration Station Challenge at Ad Astra. Please Read and Review. COMPLETE!


Hidden Truths

It was dark, and she was cold. An annoying beeping sound filled her ears. Muffled voices she couldn't quite understand fluttered in and out of the background. She opened her eyes, or so she thought, but the darkness remained. She reached out blindly, and a warm hand clasped hers.

"Relax, you're among friends," said an unfamiliar male voice with a distinctive hint of a southern drawl. "Welcome back, Commander Thavalan. You had us pretty worried for a few days."

Snippets of memories started to assault her consciousness—bright flashes of light, the deck trembling violently beneath her, the smell of charred and fused circuits, commingled with that of human blood and burnt flesh. Her crew—were they safe? Had they survived her last-ditch effort to defeat their unseen foe? Was the ship intact? Where was she? She couldn't feel or hear the distinct thrum of a ship's engine traveling through space. Were they damaged that badly? _I need to get to the bridge; there's no one else left to take command._

She made a move to toss the covers aside, swing her legs to the floor, but firm hands grasped her shoulders, halted the action before it even began.

"Whoa there. You aren't going anywhere."

"I'll go wherever I please." Her comments were interrupted by a bout of coughing, her voice hoarse, grating to her own ears. "I'm in command. I need to be on the bridge."

Unbelievably, the unidentified voice chuckled. "Not likely. You see, I'm in command here, no matter that you outrank me, so you'll just stay put, and since you're planetside, getting to the bridge should be quite a trick. I'd like to see you manage it."

"Who are you?" He was definitely not Doctor Cho, a young lieutenant newly assigned to her department. As the only doctor available, she'd put him in charge of sickbay when she had assumed command. All the senior staff had been killed during the sneak attack on their vessel. Dar Thavalan was the ship's CMO, but as a medical officer also trained for command, she had been uniquely qualified, and the most senior officer left, to assume responsibility for the two hundred souls aboard.

The ship had been heavily damaged, both comms and warp capability inoperative with no chance of being repaired, so they had spent three weeks limping to the nearest starbase. By the time they had been radio silent for two weeks, Starfleet had sent a ship to their last known location to ascertain their status, but the _Endurance_ was long gone, and without comms or a warp signature, left no signs as to her whereabouts, or what had befallen her.

Their arrival at Starbase Two had been met with stunned surprise and a healthy dose of relief, which quickly turned to incredulity once the survivors began to explain their harrowing experience. Their vessel had been patched up enough to allow them to make the three-day journey to Earth in order to undergo more extensive repairs and to be debriefed by Starfleet Command as to the identity of the assailants and the technology involved that had almost destroyed their vessel three weeks ago.

"And where am I?" She was finally coming to the realization that she was no longer aboard the _Endurance_.

"Leonard McCoy, ma'am. _Doctor _Leonard McCoy. And you're at The Starfleet Base Hospital, on Earth. You've been through the wringer, so just relax."

It was starting to come back to her—the protracted journey to Starbase Two, the jury-rigged repairs and the return trip to Earth. While en route they'd once again been attacked by an unseen foe, apparently determined to destroy them before they could report their findings to Starfleet Command. They had destroyed the vessel that attacked them three weeks ago in the ensuing firefight, which meant that ship hadn't been the prototype. The enemy technology was in widespread use.

They'd had no chance to call for help on the first occasion; the weapons fire had come out of nowhere, a ship becoming visible and firing before they were even able to get their shields up. Try as she might, she couldn't remember the details of the second battle. "My ship, my crew," she asked in a tremulous whisper.

Another voice answered. "You managed to save the ship, Dar, for the second time, I might add." She recognized the voice of Admiral James Komack.

"And my crew?" she reiterated, her voice now firmer, but edged with dread.

"Eighteen dead, forty-three injured during the second assault."

That brought the total lives lost to fifty-three. Dar fought down the grief that clutched at her with icy fingers. "We were attacked by an unidentified vessel, sir. Based on computer searches, we believe it was a—"

"Sorry, Commander," he interrupted, "but that's classified, not to be discussed in an unsecure location." His voice softened just a fraction. "Given the circumstances, the fact that you kept the ship together at all was a miracle; that the loss of life wasn't so much higher. We're grateful, Dar, and I promise we'll explain everything to you when you're stronger, and get your input as to what you know as well. In the meantime, listen to your doctor. He's a bit unconventional, and still wet behind the ears as far as service in Starfleet goes, but he's one of our best and brightest. I know doctors often make the worst patients, but I'm sure he'll be able to keep you in line." A hand brushed her shoulder. "Glad you're doing better, Commander. I have to go now but we'll talk again soon, I promise." She heard the sound of footsteps retreating, the servos firing to life as an automatic door swished open and then closed.

She reached up to touch the bandage covering her eyes, the source of her current blindness. "Explain the nature of my injury, Doctor, and remember, I will know if you supply inaccurate or incomplete information."

"I realize you're a physician, too," he answered. The sound of him settling into a chair next to her bed was followed by a sigh, and the clearing of a throat.

"Allow me to speculate," she started before he could begin. "I recall the navigation panel exploding in my face." Images of the young ensign falling out of his chair, bleeding profusely from a chest wound, flitted across the darkness. She'd slipped into his seat, working with the helmsman who was returning fire, to make a run for the safety of Earth. Somehow they'd managed to elude their foe and she'd glanced over at the young woman, mouth open to praise her for her expert bit of flying, when a portion of the ceiling gave way, landing on them and the console before them. That was the last thing she remembered. "Severe bilateral corneal damage, correct?"

"Yes."

"Repairable?" she asked, trying desperately to keep the riotous cadence of her heartbeat from reaching her face, or her words.

"We're not quite sure. Your hybrid Andorian-Vulcan physiology means no corneas were available for transplant, and as Vulcan eyes are more sensitive than human, the conventional method of allowing them to heal without intervention was also not an option. We tried an experimental procedure—one recommended and performed by Doctor Geoffrey M'Benga, a new graduate whose primary area of study was Vulcan physiology. He'll be doing his internship on Vulcan beginning next week."

"And what procedure was implemented?"

He felt it would be best to create a conjunctival flap, using the Vulcan nictitating membrane, to facilitate healing. In addition to that we temporarily paralyzed your eyelids. This will keep them in a closed position for the next two weeks in order to restrict their movement across the cornea, thus limiting the possibility of further damage. The reason for the bandages is twofold—one, to serve as a dressing to the facial skin which suffered chemical burns during the accident, and two, to minimize the chance of infection by airborne pathogens which could conceivably make their way through the several millimeter gap between your eyelids and into the corneal ulcers themselves. As you know, untreated or worsening ulcers can lead to a rupture of the anterior chamber of the eye. We'll be applying daily topical antibiotics when we change your dressing which will penetrate to the corneal tissue via the minute gap between your eyelids, and along with a cocktail of high-grade, systemic antibiotics to combat infection, we feel the prognosis is extremely good."

"Percentage?" she snapped.

He shifted in his seat, the voice softer, the drawl increasingly thick. "There's an eighty-five percent chance you'll get your vision back fully and without complications."

"Then why am I here? I can just as easily recuperate in my quarters aboard ship." She made a move to get out of bed again, but once more firm hands kept her in her place.

"That's only one of a myriad of injuries you suffered. You've been unconscious for four days. The broken femur and clavicle have been repaired with a bone knitter, but both are still weak, particularly the leg, so you'll need several weeks of physical therapy to restore it to its full range of motion and previous strength.

You also had a concussion, bruised ribs and a crushed liver lobe. Again, replacement organs weren't available, so R&R is in order until your liver has time to heal, and even though the Andorian liver regenerates more quickly than a human one, it'll be close to three weeks before it's once again operating at peak efficiency. Sorry, Commander, but it looks like you're stuck here, with me, for the duration." What she didn't know was that her quarters—in fact the entire deck where they were located—had been destroyed in the firefight.

Well, that explained the dull throb in her head that went beyond her eyes, why drawing a full breath was difficult, and the persistent ache in her right shoulder and thigh. Didn't mean she had to like it, however. As she sat silently brooding over this news, he switched gears.

"Are you hungry? Thirsty? Just tell me what you want and I'll get it for you. I don't have to tell you something rich in protein will go a long way to facilitating the healing process." She could hear the warmth, the smile in his voice even if she couldn't see his face. However, she had more pressing issues on her mind at the moment.

"I would prefer some time alone, Doctor, if I may ask."

"That's certainly not a problem, Commander, but I must ask you to promise me that you won't try to get out of bed, or remove the bandages on your eyes. I don't want all of our hard work to be undone. In exchange I don't see an issue with allowing you an hour or so to yourself. But after that, I'll be back, and I'll expect you to eat something at that time, so if you don't tell me what you want, chances are I won't choose the right thing."

He was trying so hard—to make a good impression, to make sure she was comfortable, to follow the orders of his superiors with regard to her care, perhaps all three—she couldn't be sure which. Why? An ulterior motive? Had Komack ordered him to personally keep an eye on her? In spite of herself, she felt the corners of her mouth lift into a slight grin. No, it wasn't that. His enthusiasm and compassion seemed genuine, and even Komack had called him "unconventional." She couldn't quite put her finger on it yet, but there was already something she liked about the man.

"You have my word, Doctor, and I would be delighted at your choice of meal for me, whatever that may be, and if you would be so kind as to join me. I have additional questions regarding my treatment and prognosis."

"All right, Commander, I'll do my other rounds, stop by the commissary, and see you again in an hour." And with that, he disappeared in the same manner as Admiral Komack, leaving her alone with the beeping monitors, and her thoughts.

(0o0)

As he was heading to the commissary after his rounds, his thoughts kept returning to his newest patient. Up till now his practice had been limited to Georgia. While he'd studied a number of Federation species in med school, at this point in his career he hadn't had cause to meet, let alone treat, a hybrid individual. Her blue skin and white hair spoke to her Andorian heritage; the lack of antennae and slightly pointed ears were a result of the Vulcan influence, no doubt, her strong, lithe build a happy marriage of the two. _How the hell did that happen_? he wondered. He was all for IDIC, but those two races, based on their unique personality traits—while Andorians had the hearts of warriors, Vulcans were the great pacifists of the galaxy—hardly seemed compatible species.

Then there was the whole logical/unemotional thing. He had a Deep respect for intellectual prowess, but didn't trust anyone who never cracked a smile. Didn't mean he didn't like them—it wasn't a racial thing—but he sure as hell didn't have to spend time with them. Not that he'd enjoy it anyway.

At present he wasn't sure what to make of her, hadn't interacted with her enough to be certain where she stood. Did she consider herself Vulcan, Andorian, a healthy mix of the two? He hadn't solved that riddle yet. The fact that she had been in command of a vessel and destroyed an enemy ship during a firefight—or so he gathered based on the exchange between her and Komack—proved that she had no qualms about doing whatever was necessary to protect the lives of those under her command, but her speech patterns and the ordered, meticulous nature of her thought processes were distinctly Vulcan.

"Can I help you, sir?"

The voice startled him out of his reverie. He blinked, looking at the woman behind the counter as if she were a Centaurian ceil cat, waiting to pounce.

"If you aren't sure what you'd like yet, today's menu selections are on the screen to your left." He heard the impatient shuffling of feet, incomprehensible words muttered in low undertones, those in line behind him obviously disgruntled and in a hurry. Glancing quickly at the board he made his choices, much to the relieved satisfaction of those who were waiting.

(0o0)

As soon as he left, she fumbled for, found the call button on her bed and depressed it. Within seconds, the door to her room swished open. "How may I help you, ma'am?" the female voice of the nurse who answered her call asked.

"I wish to contact my ship," she began without preamble, "and require my communicator."

"Uh, I don't think it's here," the nurse supplied uncertainly. "As a rule, we don't allow patients to keep personal effects in their rooms," she finished more assertively. It kept problematic patients, particularly those with higher ranks, from being beamed out to their ships against the orders of the doctors and staff.

"Then I require that you take me to your communications suite, so that I may contact my vessel and ascertain its status."

"Sorry again ma'am" —Dar had the distinct impression that the young woman was wringing her hands even though she couldn't visually confirm it— "but Doctor McCoy gave strict instructions that you weren't to be out of bed."

"I believe his exact orders were that I was not permitted to bear weight on my injured leg. That will not be necessary if you provide me with a wheelchair."

"Um, I don't have the authority to make that decision, ma'am." Yep, the poor girl was definitely flustered. "I'll need to contact Doctor McCoy first and get permission. He's in the middle of his rounds now, so it might take a little while to track him down." The nurse left to attempt to fulfill the request, the door swishing closed behind her once again.

After what seemed to be an interminable amount of time had passed, Dar found she didn't have the patience to wait any longer. She hoisted herself to a seated position, her legs dangling over the side of the bed. She reached out cautiously until her fingers brushed the smooth top of her bedside table. Tracing her way to the front edge, she felt along the perpendicular forward face until her fingers found what she sought—the button that would open the recessed space within. She depressed it and was rewarded with the sound of the front panel sliding open. She reached blindly into the void but only felt various sundry items, not the communication device she was seeking. Tentatively she rested the injured leg on the floor below, shifting some of her weight to it, but realized it was not strong enough to hold her.

Angry and frustrated, she settled back against the pillows, muttering Andorian curses under her breath. She was considering her options when the door opened. The nurse was back. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I haven't been able to track down Doctor McCoy yet—"

Dar didn't believe that for an instant—all doctors carried personal communications devices on which they could be reached anywhere in the hospital in the event of an emergency—but decided not to call the young woman on it, taking matters into her own hands instead. "Then you shall take me to the communications suite on my authority," she barked in her best command tone.

"You know I can't do that, ma'am—I could get in a lot of trouble."

"Young lady, I am giving you a direct order to do so. If you are familiar with my case, you will know that I am a physician, and can—"

"Dar," a voice interrupted from the doorway. "They told me you'd regained consciousness a little while ago. I came as soon as I could." The unidentified male glanced at the nurse, trying mightily—and failing—to suppress a grin. "Not surprised in the least to see that you're already trying to run things. You've always had control issues," he said with mock seriousness, turning to the commander once again.

"Jack!" Dar exclaimed, delighted as she recognized the distinct Australian accent of Deputy Chief Engineer Lieutenant Commander John Halloran. "So nice to see you… or in my case, to hear you. Come in, come in. Sit with me, so we can catch up." She turned her bandaged face in the direction of where she knew the nurse was standing. "Surely that is permitted?"

"Visiting hours are over in forty-five minutes. As long as your guest is gone by then it shouldn't be a problem. The doctor didn't place any restrictions on visitors." A beat. "If you don't need me, ma'am, then I'll just be going…" Dar heard footsteps rapidly retreating, the sound of the door swishing closed.

"You didn't have to scare her, put her on the spot like that," Jack said playfully, settling himself in the chair beside her bed.

"I had not even begun to put her on the spot," Dar countered. Jack snickered at that, but the moment of levity passed quickly. "So tell me, Jack, how bad was it?"

Despite the fact that she couldn't see him he looked away, Adams apple bobbing. "Could've been better, could've been a lot worse."

"That is not an answer," she admonished. "Whom did we lose in the second attack?"

"A third of the bridge crew, including helmsman Kripner, seven lower-decks personnel who were trying to contain multiple hull breaches, and eight of my engineers who were doing their damnedest to keep the engines on line during the battle. Cho did his best, but was definitely in over his head given the number of injured and the fact that sickbay was short-staffed due to those killed or wounded in the first firefight." He reached out, touched her lightly on the forearm. "We could've used you, Dee." He paused momentarily, clearing his throat softly. "Fortunately we managed to get off a distress call this time, and we were close enough to Earth that rescue parties were able to come to our aid, but not quickly enough for those eighteen souls who didn't make it."

Again, Dar felt despair and a sense of failure threaten to unravel her. She pushed those feelings aside for now. She'd address them later, in private, but at the moment she had a job to do. "And the _Endurance_?" she asked in a voice whose steadiness surprised even her.

"She's currently in spacedock, undergoing repairs. It's going to take a month at least to get the warp engines back online. One of our nacelles took a direct hit, fusing the majority of the warp coils on that side. There were a total of five hull breaches, ranging in size from half a meter to thirty meters. A pulse of plasma energy wiped out all the crew quarters on deck five, and most of the stations on the bridge were damaged or destroyed. We're looking at two to three months before she's spaceworthy again."

"I should be there, overseeing everything," Dar said bitterly.

"No, you should be here, getting well. The repair crews know what they're doing. Trust me, they don't need you breathing down their necks, and those of us serving as department heads now are keeping everything running smoothly. Like I said, it'll be several months before she's ship-shape again—plenty of time for you to recuperate and still get all your fingers in the 'tuck.'"

"The what?" she questioned, thoroughly confused.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "Forgot myself for a moment. I believe the non-Australian word is 'pie.'"

For Dar, the idea that things were proceeding smoothly without her brought about mixed feelings. She felt an overwhelming sense of pride that her crew had stepped up and was doing what was necessary, but she also felt like she was letting them down, furious that she was not able to be there when they needed her the most. "Odds are they'll give the ship to someone else long before then, someone who doesn't just moonlight as a captain." She had known this from the instant she took command, but it didn't make it any easier. They were a good crew and she had come to love, and respect them. Entrusting them to someone else seemed negligent somehow.

"You should know that we're all fighting the establishment for your reinstatement, from the acting department heads on down to the lowest seaman recruit. During that three week journey to Starbase Two the crew came to trust you, and can't imagine anyone else sitting in the center seat. We've been through enough, losing all of our senior officers and nearly having our atoms scattered throughout the cosmos not once, but twice. It'd be best for crew morale to promote someone from within—someone they already know and are comfortable with. At least that's the angle I'm pitching to anyone who'll listen."

Dar smiled in spite of herself, but the feeling was bittersweet. Yes, she was touched and more than a little surprised by the loyalty the crew was showing her, for to her mind, she couldn't help feeling that those last eighteen deaths were definitely on her hands. If she had done things differently, would any or all of them still be here? She shook herself slightly. This line of self-recrimination was a dead-end and wouldn't bring those eighteen souls back. But she could make damn sure it never happened again.

"Have you discovered any additional information regarding the identity of our assailants?"

"Subsequent searches of the archival database once we returned to Earth confirmed our earlier hypotheses—we're almost sure it was—"

At that moment to door to her room swished open. "I'm back bearing gifts," Leonard McCoy announced, entering the room with two trays in hand. "I hope you like—oh sorry," he said, noticing Jack, "didn't realize you had company. I'll just leave these and check on you later."

"Nonsense Doctor, that will not be necessary. Jack, meet the physician in charge of my care—Leonard McCoy." Jack climbed to his feet, hand outstretched. McCoy deposited the trays on a table, shook the proffered hand warmly.

"Doctor McCoy, this is John Halloran, deputy chief engineer of the _Endurance_."

"I understand you folks had a rough patrol, and suffered a fair number of casualties. I'm truly sorry," McCoy said sincerely.

"It could've been a lot worse, if Dee here hadn't assumed command. We—" They were interrupted as Halloran's communicator beeped incessantly. "If you'll excuse me," he said, making his way into the corridor.

"Jack gives me more credit than I deserve," Dar remarked, admiration for the man clearly evident in her voice. "We were the two highest-ranking officers left after the initial confrontation. My place was on the bridge, but it was he who assumed the role of chief engineer when our chief was killed in the first battle. He and his engineers held the ship together long enough for us to get to Starbase Two where we underwent basic repairs. The entire crew performed admirably during that journey. So many of the junior officers had to step up and assume duties beyond their scope of experience since all members of the senior staff were killed during the firefight."

"Who attacked you, and was it provoked?"

Halloran stepped back into the room, precluding her need to provide an answer she wasn't prepared to give. "That was Admiral Komack. Seems I'm next on the list to be debriefed." He turned to Dar. "Feel better, Dee; I'll come visit you again soon, and Doc," he said, turning to McCoy, "don't let her boss you around. She has a penchant for pulling rank."

"I've already gotten that vibe from the commander, but I'll do what's in her best interest whether she likes it or not, I assure you."

"Jack," Dar interrupted, "make sure the admiral and the committee investigating the incident understand the severity of the situation, and the ramifications it poses for the Federation at large," she added cryptically.

"I'll do everything in my power, Dee, to see that our shipmates who gave their lives didn't do so in vain." And with that, he patted her hand and hurried out the door.

McCoy remained rooted to the spot, his eyes shifting between the commander and the door, uncertain of how to respond to that last exchange. Unable to see his discomfiture but noting the uncomfortable silence, Dar took it upon herself to move things in a different direction.

"The meals you have brought smell wonderful, Doctor," she said brightly, attempting to lighten the atmosphere in the room. "Thank you for being so considerate.

Instantly at ease, McCoy once again slipped into the role of gracious host. "I've got Cajun chicken or a spicy, vegetarian red beans and rice, and some Vulcan herbal tea to wash it down with. Your choice, Commander."

Her smile was visible below the bandage. "Uncertain as to whether or not I adhere to the Vulcan discipline of strict vegetarianism," she deduced immediately. "However, the tea was definitely a shot in the dark. Andorians are known to prefer something stronger," she commented, somewhat bemused by the whole situation.

He bounced on his toes, his tone somewhat sheepish. "I'll admit that was part of it, at least where the meals were concerned, but we both know alcohol is strictly off the table at the moment due to your medications and the tea does offer some unique healing properties, especially for someone with your physiology. As for the food, both selections are rich in protein—something you need to help your body begin to recover from the physical insults it suffered. Besides, these are two of my favorite dishes, and although I can't personally vouch for the hospital, synthesized versions, you did say you'd enjoy whatever I brought you."

"Touché, Doctor. You truly have no preference for either entrée?"

"The choice is yours, ma'am. I'll be happy with either one."

"Then I will take the chicken and herbal tea. I also smell sweet tea, but I imagine you selected that for yourself?"

"Neither Vulcans nor Andorians are renowned for their love of sweets, but if you'd prefer the iced tea, that won't be a problem."

"Nonsense, Doctor, I would not think of depriving you of it. Besides," she added playfully, "you must learn to not be so accommodating. Once aboard a vessel, the captain always tries to ride roughshod over the CMO, expecting that individual to bend to his will. It is our job, as medical officers, to make sure that that does not happen, and that the physical and mental well-being of the crew is always the first priority."

"Well, I'm not a pushover, if that's what you're implying," he retorted, clearly on the defensive. "I handled quite a few difficult patients and more than my share of bureaucrats when I was still in private practice, but my momma always taught me to put the needs of a beautiful woman before my own."

"And to be charming as well, no doubt," she countered immediately, secretly pleased by the compliment. "However, I am curious to know your wife's feelings on the matter, for surely someone as courteous and thoughtful as yourself is already spoken for."

"I've no comment on that," he said brusquely, deftly deflecting the personal bent the conversation had taken. "Here's your entrée, Commander," he said, placing the tray on the - table and maneuvering it into position over her bed so she could reach it easily from where she sat, propped up on pillows. Spreading her napkin in her lap, he then placed her fork in her right hand and guided the other one to where the mug of tea was located.

Dar instantly regretted her decision to tease him. No matter how innocent her comment had been it had obviously struck a nerve, the topic clearly a sensitive one for the young doctor. She found the man truly intriguing and had not meant to upset him. "I apologize, Doctor. I assure you my intention was not to—"

"Forget it," he interrupted, "Water under the bridge. You said you had additional questions about your care?" She heard him drop into the chair beside her bed once again.

"Yes. But that can wait until after we've finished our meals, Doctor."

As they ate in silence, she tried to dispel the tension she had unwittingly created. "This Cajun chicken is perfectly seasoned and quite delicious. Thank you, Doctor."

"Yeah, mine's pretty good, too as far as 'fake food' goes."

She chuckled at that, and felt the atmosphere between them start to thaw just a little. "The tea is quite another matter, however," she confessed, making a face as she sipped at the steaming mug. "I've not found anyone outside of biological Vulcans or those who have lived on the planet for many years skilled enough to infuse the correct balance of seasonings properly."

"Well, if it's any consolation, the sweet tea is nothing to write home about, either."

She sensed, rather than saw his smile, but there was also an indefinable air that he had further questions and at this point was either too polite, or too intimidated, to ask them. "Something else is on your mind, Doctor," she announced between mouthfuls. "Please, feel free to ask me anything."

McCoy lowered his own fork, cleared his throat softly before beginning. "I must admit, I'm a little surprised by the whole 'take command' thing. My understanding, in the six months of training I received prior to being commissioned as a lieutenant, is that only line officers can command, and as physicians we are strictly medical personnel, not line officers. If the choice comes down to an ensign who's a line officer or an admiral who's a doctor, in that case the ensign wins."

"Normally that is true, but in my case I have training in both areas. In addition to the title of doctor, I also attended command school for a year prior to my commissioning—the first, and at present, only cadet to do so."

"I see…" McCoy answered, trailing off, a frown she was unable to see creasing his brow.

However, she heard it in his tone. "But…" she countered.

"I wonder how you manage to balance both sides. They seem to be contradictory philosophies, one where the ultimate goal is to do everything in your power to preserve life, the other allowing you to take it at will."

"In essence, Doctor, the goal of both is to preserve life at all costs, they just represent two different methods for doing so."

"I hadn't really thought about it that way, but somehow blasting other sentient beings out of existence seems to be in direct conflict with the Hippocratic Oath."

"It depends on one's perspective. Despite what you may think based on preconceived notions, Starfleet is not in the habit of arbitrarily annihilating other races. We are in the business of exploration in order to expand our knowledge of the universe, and to reach out in First Contact situations, so that each side may learn from the other, but should we find ourselves to be the object of aggression, it becomes a commanding officer's responsibility to defend his or her crew while trying, if possible, to mitigate the number of casualties inflicted upon the other side. Naturally all will be done to ensure a peaceful outcome whenever conflict is involved, but self-preservation must be the first priority."

"It makes sense when you put it like that. I suppose both a captain and a CMO have the lives of the crew in their hands, but command is still not a position I'd ever want to be in."

"Which is precisely the reason physicians aren't typically line officers as well," she replied.

"Amen to that. Medicine presents its own set of unique challenges. That's more than enough for me to deal with at any given time," he said, sipping at his tea.

Dar lowered her fork as well. "And I already sense that from you, Doctor—your drive, your passion for this profession, and your dedication to providing the best possible care to those for whom you are responsible. I imagine you and your future commander will butt heads on more than one occasion, but you will fight tenaciously to ensure the well-being of the crew."

McCoy reddened at that—a physiological response which, fortunately for him, Dar couldn't see. "Thank you, Commander. That means a lot coming from you." He paused. "Sometimes I wonder just what I've gotten myself into," he admitted as an afterthought.

Again, she sensed the tension, the air of self-recrimination permeating the room, but said nothing this time. He would enlighten her on his reason for joining Starfleet if and when he chose.

They finished their meals and discussed her care for the next two weeks, she carefully listening to the plan he outlined, adding a suggestion here or there. Once they had ironed out the details he bid her goodnight, promising to check up on her the next day after he'd completed his morning rounds.

(0o0)

Over the next week, Dar continued to improve. McCoy made a habit of stopping by after her morning physical therapy session to evaluate her progress and oversee the process of changing her bandage and medicating her eyes.

Often she had other visitors from among her crew, Jack Halloran most commonly and the young physician named Cho. Each man spoke highly of her abilities and expertise in his particular sphere of influence, and McCoy's estimation of the woman continued to climb. In many ways he found her to be a most remarkable and dynamic individual.

Although she was recuperating nicely, McCoy noted that the commander was becoming increasingly restless as the days progressed due to her physical limitations. His solution was a change of venue whenever possible, which included sharing lunch with her out of doors on the hospital grounds on a daily basis. He found the time he spent with her most enjoyable, the two chatting like old friends on a variety of topics ranging from the professional to the personal.

He learned that she had grown up on Andor, her father's world, and that her Vulcan mother had died in childbirth. Medicine had been her passion, but the ability to command others was an innate part of who she was, due both to the environment in which she was raised, and to her physiological makeup. From what he could tell, she was a natural born leader who commanded the respect and admiration of her colleagues, no matter their career path.

She had been under his care for nine days now, and he marveled at her recuperative powers. While a damaged human liver would regain one hundred percent of its function in four to six weeks, hers was already approaching the sixty percent mark. Physical therapy was producing above average results as well, and despite his preference that she use a wheelchair, she was already walking with the assistance of a cane and a strong arm to lean on. Uncharacteristically, he found it nearly impossible to enforce his medical restrictions on her. Better than most, she clearly knew her body, recognized its current limitations, understood the risks, and was willing to take them. Somehow, he couldn't fault her for that.

(0o0)

Three days later, when her physical therapy session was over, Dar went back to her room and settled in to wait for the young doctor to come in and oversee her eye treatment, as he always did. Her Vulcan time sense told her it was past time for him to be here, but still he hadn't come. She wondered what had happened. She tried to think of anything she might have said or done, any reason he might be avoiding her. As she was considering the situation, and trying to determine her best course of action, there was a knock on the door. She felt her spirits rise, and was mildly shocked that the young doctor's presence might elicit such a reaction from her. Then the door opened. "Let's get those bandages changed, shall we?" said a female voice, and she felt her heart sink. She clamped down ruthlessly on her feelings, and filed them away for later analysis. Not that it mattered; she wasn't free to pursue other options, even if she wanted to.

She sat there, quietly brooding, while the nurse went about the business of putting drops in her eyes and changing her bandages.

"Doctor McCoy says you'll be having these bandages removed soon."

"And just where is Doctor McCoy this morning?" She meant it to be a friendly question, but it came out snappish instead.

"He's with a patient," the nurse answered stiffly.

Dar guessed the nurse was a bit intimidated by her, for she finished her work as quickly as possible and all but ran for the door. Dar guessed she couldn't blame her. When the nurse left, she was alone with only her thoughts to keep her company. As a fairly energetic person, Dar had rested until she was ready to climb the walls. She considered calling Jack Halloran and asking him to visit, but she knew that he was busy overseeing the refit, and she wanted him exactly where he was. She would even settle for being debriefed by Admiral Komack right about now. Her eyes were still bandaged, so she couldn't see to read. She knew that the computer would read to her if she asked, but right now, she had about as much interest in that as she did in the diseases of the Aldeberan shellmouth.

"Computer?"

"Working," the mechanized voice answered.

"Some music."

"Specify."

"An Andorian Waltz."

The music started and filled the room with a series of high pitched trills and low toned riffs. Notes soared to the sky in her mind and then fell to the depths. Not stopping to think about what she was doing, she slid out of bed, and with the help of her crutch danced across the room. She decided that was a bad idea when her knees buckled, and she had to use the crutch and various handholds around the room to make it back to the bed. She had completed her physical therapy, but her liver was still not fully regenerated and the new leg bones were still a bit weak from lack of adequate use. It took her three tries, and she had to use her crutch to poke at it, but she finally found the lever under the bed and lowered it, so she could climb back in. She was surprised at just how exhausted she was after that little bit of exertion. As the waltz finished, a selection of classical music from various worlds began to sound through the room, and she drifted off to sleep.

That's how McCoy found her two hours later, when he showed up to take her outside for their now daily lunch on the grounds.

"Computer, stop music," he barked, louder than intended, and then reached for Dar's hand as he saw movement from the bed. "Commander, I'm sorry. I thought you were sleeping."

"I was, but I've slept long enough. Are you here for lunch?"

"Yes."

There was a shortness to the doctor's tone that made Dar take notice. Something was wrong. As they half walked, half hobbled out to the courtyard, Doctor McCoy didn't say two words. That wasn't like the young doctor at all. There were two or three places on the hospital grounds where the doctor usually took her to eat. Today he chose a small round iron table with a sort of scrollwork design, and helped her sit in one of the chairs. She heard him seat himself in the chair across from her, and begin setting out their food. They ate in silence for a long time.

"I missed you this morning," she said, finally, thinking that might be a safe enough place to start.

"I'm sorry. I had a patient. Emergency surgery. He didn't make it."

"Oh, Mac, I'm so sorry," she said, using the nickname she had given him a few days ago. She reached across and brushed his arm, and heard a protracted sigh.

"I'm afraid I'm not very good company today, Dee."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"No."

Her instinct told her it was about more than just the patient he'd been unable to save this morning. She knew he was hurting and wanted to do whatever she could to ease that pain. She cast around for something else to say to him, another subject that was safe, and would hopefully get him talking. "Based on our conversation from a few days ago, I get the distinct impression you didn't join Starfleet because being in space was a lifelong dream, or because you felt an overwhelming compulsion to spread the word of the Federation throughout the galaxy."

He responded with a mirthless chuckle. "No, for me it was a means to an end; a way to escape Earth and the painful memories associated with it."

"I see. And has it worked?"

The grim laugh erupted from his throat again. "Not so far, but I'll let you know once I get my first shipboard assignment."

"It might help to discuss it, to address your feelings, but only do so if you feel comfortable, Mac," she prodded gently, desperate to see him through whatever was troubling him.

After a few moments of awkward silence he began speaking in a voice laced with sorrow: "You were right last week. I was married, to the woman of my dreams. We even had a child together—Joanna—but I let my career take precedence over my family, and finally Jocelyn had had enough. She divorced me three years ago, married someone else in the interim, and followed him off world nine months ago today. She took Joanna with her." He paused, to collect himself she knew. She reached out and squeezed his forearm, the intensity of his distress now evident through the tactile contact.

Having grown up on Andor, she didn't have the benefit of training in the Vulcan mind disciplines which would have enabled her to erect mental barriers designed to keep the intense feelings of others out. Not a particularly gifted telepath, this only became problematical for her when touching someone who was experiencing unusually strong emotions—a situation she had learned to deal with on her own through trial and error, and significant research into what limited data was available on Vulcan mental techniques. Vulcans were very close-mouthed about things they considered to be personal aspects of their race and culture, therefore providing very little information for wider dissemination.

Steeling herself against the unchecked emotions buffeting her she spoke in a calm, soothing voice: "You love your daughter dearly, and now that she will be absent from your life for the most part, you find the memories of her in places familiar to you a bit difficult to bear sometimes. You're hoping a change of venue—a drastic change—will serve to mitigate them somehow." A sharp intake of breath, followed by harsh, ragged breathing, indicated she was on the right path.

"I'll hardly ever get to see her face to face; won't be there for the important milestones in her life like her first crush, her first kiss, her first broken heart, her graduation, her recitals—at age eight she's already a gifted musician…and it's all my fault," he finished in a choked whisper.

"I find that difficult to believe. Your wife should have been aware of the demands your chosen profession would place on you; should have had no illusions as to how your dedication to those whose health and well-being were your responsibility would manifest."

"But I should have been dedicated to Jocelyn, to my little Dandy Lion, as well. In fact, their needs should have taken precedence over my own."

"I have no doubt that they did. Do not confuse your needs with those of your patients. They are two separate matters and one that any individual who has chosen to share their life with someone in the medical field should understand. In your case, I imagine your ex-wife failed to make that distinction. To me, you do not seem like a man who would put his own needs above those of his family."

A lengthy silence ensued and Dar released her hold on McCoy's arm, reluctant to 'listen in' any further, no matter how unintentionally, to his private pain. Unable to see his face, she couldn't ascertain whether her words had helped, or only added to his sense of guilt. Finally he let out a long, protracted sigh.

"Are you finished with your lunch?" he asked, suddenly.

It seemed the discussion was over. "Yes, thank you." He gathered their trash and made his way to the nearest of several waste disposal units located on the grounds. When he returned, he took her hand and helped her to stand, made sure she was balanced, and started walking back toward the hospital.

"Come on. Let's get you back to your room. I've got to start on my afternoon rounds, or else I'll be here all night."

(0o0)

"Cho and Jack want to be here when we remove the bandages, but I won't okay that without your permission. They're waiting outside, but I don't have to let them in if you don't want me to."

Four more days had passed, and McCoy was mostly back to his charmingly irascible self. It was time for the bandages to come off of Dar's eyes, and she wasn't sure how she felt about the request of her crewmen. On the one hand, she was touched that they wanted to be there for her. On the other, she had enough Vulcan in her makeup to prefer to handle things like this, and the possibility of bad news, privately.

"No, I would rather not have anyone except the necessary medical personnel present for this."

"I understand. Will you explain, or would you like for me to do so?"

"I will speak to them later about it."

McCoy scanned her with his tricorder, and said, "Scans show that the ulcers are gone, and the nictitating membranes have disengaged on their own from your corneas, but I'd rather see that for myself. Lights, ten percent," he called into the air before pressing an electrostimulator to each eye, unfreezing the immobilized eyelids. "Now Dee, open your eyes very slowly, and try not to blink in case the damage isn't totally healed."

She did as instructed, gray, indistinct shapes coalescing in her field of vision.

"I'm going to turn the lights up, slowly. I want you to keep your eyes covered until they've had a chance to adjust to the darkness, and then tell me what you see."

"All right."

Ever so slowly, as the lights grew brighter, the vague shapes in her vision combined and grew clearer. She smiled and said, "I see a hospital room. Looks standard issue. And I see a young doctor who is even more handsome than I pictured in my mind."

McCoy blushed a bit at that. Dar pretended not to notice, knowing he was used to her not being able to see. Quickly recovering, he said, "Can I let your friends in now? I know they'd like to see you."

"All right, Mac. I wonder if you would allow me to perform an errand across campus today?"

"You seem to be healing nicely, but you shouldn't over exert yourself. I'll tell you what—if you allow one of your friends to accompany you, and agree to use a wheelchair, just this once, then yes, I think I can agree to that. May I ask the nature of this errand?"

"It is time I got some answers about my mission, and gave some of my own answers, too."

"I'll let you get on with it then. Who would you like for me to send in first?"

"Send them both in. I have orders for one, and the other will accompany me, per your orders, Doctor."

"Yes, ma'am."

He left, and a moment later, both of the men from the _Endurance_ came in and took up positions in a protective stance, one on either side of the bed. Immediately, Doctor Cho pointed his tricorder at her. _She had trained him well._ After he had ascertained her medical status for himself, she said, "Dave, I have something I need you to do for me. I need you to check on all of the other members of the crew who were injured in the two battles, and report to me how they are doing. I also need to issue death certificates for all of those who were lost, and write the letters to their loved ones. Can you get me a list?"

"Death certificates are done. Just waiting for your signature next to mine. I'll have the list for you, and my report this afternoon. I've released the bodies of the Earth dwellers to their families, since we can, in this instance."

"Who gave that order?" asked Commander Thavalan, her jaw tightening at the thought that flitted across her mind, one she didn't want to acknowledge, yet couldn't help doing so. She wondered if she was just having trouble accepting that she was not in charge of the situation.

"Admiral Komack." He paused and swallowed hard, not sure why she was reacting the way she was. "Did I do something wrong?"

Something cold and hard slipped down into the pit of her stomach. She couldn't explain the feeling that something was horribly wrong, but she also couldn't dismiss it.

"No. You followed the orders of a superior officer. You had no choice." With effort, she laid the feelings coursing through her aside. This wasn't the time or place to deal with such, but that time was coming.

"And that brings me to you," she said, turning to Jack. "You and I are going for a little stroll across campus. Doctor McCoy should have left orders at the Nurses' station that I was to be given use of a wheelchair."

"For what purpose?" Jack asked, but she held a finger to her lips.

"Don't ask questions. Just go get the wheelchair, and on your way out, hand me the bag with my uniform. The less you know right now, the better." Her tone brooked no disagreement, so he closed his mouth and did as he was told.

(0o0)

Fifteen minutes later, she was sitting outside of Admiral Komack's office. She looked up at her deputy chief engineer.

"Why don't you go check the status of the repairs at the shipyard, and meet me downstairs for lunch in about an hour?"

"Are you sure you don't need me to stay here?"

"I'll be fine." She didn't say it, but he got the feeling she didn't want him to be involved in whatever it was that was going on. "I'll meet you in the commissary in an hour, and I'll want a report on the _Endurance_ when I see you."

Reluctantly, he left her there, wondering briefly what Doctor McCoy would say, if he knew. He had seen the young doctor's temper find vent once before, and wasn't sure it was an experience he ever wanted to repeat, but then, he wasn't the one who would have to tell McCoy anything, and he had no doubt that Dar could handle herself. She made sure he was gone before she rose from her wheelchair and knocked on the door.

"Commander Thavalan! Come in. Sit down." She remained standing. Swallowing hard, he spoke again. "What brings you here?"

"I want answers, Admiral. Fifty three members of my crew died because of those ships out there—all the senior officers on the ship, and others, who trusted them to bring them back."

"Death comes with the territory for a Starfleet officer. You know that, Commander."

"I got the feeling when you visited me in the hospital that you already knew what I was going to tell you about who they were and why they attacked us."

"Be careful, Commander. You are treading thin ice. Of what, exactly, are you accusing me?"

_What could she say? She couldn't come out and accuse a Starfleet admiral of withholding pertinent facts of a mission, or reckless endangerment without proof. With a sigh, she finally sat down across the desk from him, vowing to herself to watch him closely from this point forward. _

"I am not accusing you of anything. I am simply asking you to fill me in on the details of why the Romulans attacked us, and why we couldn't see or otherwise detect the ship, until it suddenly appeared and fired on us."

"I wish I could. That information is classified."

"But surely, if other ship captains knew what to look for—"

"No, Commander. This information must not be disseminated widely. Not yet. Starfleet intelligence is working on a response. Until the seals are changed, I must remind you that you are not allowed to discuss this mission with anyone under any circumstances. Understood?"

"Understood." She fell silent, not wanting to be in the presence of the man, but knowing she had to work with him, for a while longer, anyway.

"Your new orders came in today," he said quietly. "There is no one, at the moment, who is ready to assume command of a starship, though we can fill the other roles easily enough. The _Endurance_ is yours, if you want her. If you wish to go back to being a ship's CMO, we would understand." She had the image in her head of an old fashioned snake oil salesman, and couldn't shake the feeling that he was giving her what he knew she wanted to try to buy her silence.

"No. I feel like I owe it to those senior officers to finish what they started." _And after that, I want to be where I can keep an eye on you, you son of a bitch._ "Thank you."

"Thank you, Commander. If it is any consolation to you, I understand how hard this is for you. It is hard for us, too. We never like to lose even one man, and especially not our talented senior officers. That loss is…irreplaceable."

She stood and he handed her the orders. "The _Endurance_ won't be space worthy again for another two weeks or so. Why don't you take that time for some R&R after you are released from the hospital. Have some fun. Get some rest. Check on the rest of your crew. This will give you time to get used to some of the replacements."

"Thank you," she said again, having nothing else to say. Determined not to show any type of weakness or emotion in front of him, she stalked out of the room, and sank with some relief into her wheelchair, waiting right outside the door. When she had gathered her energy, she wheeled herself down the hall to the turbolift, and rode it down to the first level. She would have about a half hour or a bit less to wait for Jack in the commissary. And as it turned out, they had much to discuss.

(0o0)

His orders had come through this morning—his first posting to a starship. The _USS_ _Albert_ _Schweitzer_, a medical ship with a mission to provide medical care to far flung Federation worlds that might not have adequate medical facilities of their own, was scheduled to depart in ten days. He wasn't sure what to think. Ten months ago all he'd wanted was to get as far away as possible from Earth and the unpleasant memories it evoked, but now he wasn't so sure. Since being cleared for duty two weeks ago, Commander Thavalan, or Dee, as he'd come to think of her, had been assisting at the base hospital, along with David Cho, while waiting for the repairs to her ship to be completed.

McCoy hadn't been surprised when he learned she'd been given command of the _Endurance_—he could think of no one with the right amounts of tenacity, grit, command presence and compassion to undertake the job, but part of him had hoped she'd name him as her CMO. He didn't begrudge Cho the position—the man had certainly earned it, and he would have Dee's experience to draw on if necessary—but he felt he was more qualified than the youth who had graduated from med school a scant two years ago. Yes, the boy had more time in Starfleet, and had already undertaken a deep space assignment as part of a sickbay staff, but there was no question that McCoy's medical experience and surgical expertise were superior to Cho's.

No, that wasn't what was truly bothering him about the posting. If he were to be totally honest with himself, the reasons went far deeper than that.

He shook his head, trying to clear these thoughts as he let the warm water beat down on it. He'd hoped that a genuine water shower, as opposed to a sonic one, would relax him, help him to quell the uncharacteristic case of nerves. Earlier today Dee had asked him to meet her later for dinner at a quiet little Italian place on Fisherman's Wharf, and he was trying not to get his hopes up. Turning off the water he dressed quickly and headed for the nearest maglev station.

(0o0)

When he arrived at the restaurant, Dar was already seated at a secluded table for two next to a large window overlooking the bay. She waved him over and he felt himself flush, felt his pulse quicken at the sight of her.

"So glad you could make it," she said with a grin as he dropped into the chair opposite hers. "I've already taken the initiative and ordered us an appetizer to share, and something to wash it down with," she continued, eyes twinkling. "I hope you like steamed shrimp with a spicy remoulade dipping sauce."

"Sounds delicious," he answered, but his mind was light-years away from the food.

At that moment the waiter arrived with their appetizer, and drinks. "Andorian Ale for the lady," he said, setting a frosty glass in front of Dar, "and bourbon straight up for the gentleman."

Once he left, Dar took a long pull from her glass, then leaned forward and fixed her gaze on McCoy. "I suppose you're wondering what this is all about," she began without preamble.

McCoy lifted his own glass, took a healthy sip of his own to cover his nervousness, before replying, "The thought had crossed my mind."

"The celebration is twofold. I heard about your assignment this morning. Congratulations, Mac, the _Schweitzer_ is one of the finest medical vessels in the fleet. I'm sure you'll be quite happy there while using the posting to further what is certain to be a long and promising career. You'll gain experience treating many different kinds of beings, both humanoid and non-humanoid."

He felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, did his best to keep the reaction from reaching his face. Those were not the words he wanted to hear. "Thanks, Dee," he said with more enthusiasm than he felt. "So what's the other part?" he asked, hoping against hope.

Her eyes sparkled with renewed life, her face becoming animated, making her all the more beautiful. "Jack's promotion came through today, so now he can officially be my new chief engineer. His was the last position to be filled. And just in time. Repairs have been completed a week early, so we depart on our shakedown cruise tomorrow. If that goes well, in a week we will be headed for deep space again."

"That's great. I'm happy for you, Dee," he lied evenly, resting a hand lightly on her forearm, losing himself in the impossible depths of those violet eyes. He felt his throat constrict. _Wish I was going with you. If only you knew how I feel. No one's made me feel this way since Jocelyn_.

Her face darkened suddenly, and she opened her mouth to speak, but the waiter chose that instant to make another appearance. "Are you ready to order, or do you need a few minutes yet?"

"I'm ready," Dar said brightly, unobtrusively slipping her arm from beneath his hand and grabbing her menu. "Mac?"

"Yeah, I'm ready, too."

Once they had placed their orders the conversation resumed, but it was unassuming, safe, professional. The moment for total honesty between them had passed.

They spent several pleasant hours talking, eating and nursing their drinks before Dar climbed to her feet. "Thank you, Mac, I've had a wonderful evening, but I have an early day tomorrow, and need to get back to the ship."

He escorted her outside, where she turned to face him. "Well, Mac, I guess this is goodbye. I sincerely wish to thank you for the excellent care, and friendship, you provided to me when I was injured."

"You don't have to thank me for that. The pleasure was mine, even though you proved to be one of the more difficult and ornery patients I've treated over the years," he teased, lips twisting into a wry grin.

She chuckled at that, and a moment of awkward silence ensued.

"Will I see you again?" he asked quietly, no trace of innocent, playful banter in his tone now.

"I genuinely hope our paths will cross again someday but for now, you have your assignment and I have mine. As to what the future holds for each of us, that remains to be seen, but know that I wish you all the best, Mac."

He wanted to reach out and kiss her, confess his feelings, but didn't dare. They had their orders, and there was always a chance she didn't feel the same. He settled for planting a kiss on her hand. "Then this is goodbye, Commander, and it truly has been a pleasure. All the best, Dee, and may you find true happiness someday."

She reached for her communicator. "Thavalan to _Endurance_," she said into the small metal box.

"Endurance _here, ma'am,"_ came the instant reply.

"Notify the transporter room. One to beam up." She closed the device and stepped away from him. She raised her hand in what he knew was a Vulcan salute, fingers spread into a 'v' shape, as the transporter beam took hold of her. He watched her disappear in a shower of sparkling light, feeling his heart fracture into a million pieces along with her. When no trace of her remained he turned and walked away, quickly enveloped by the thick, San Francisco fog.


End file.
